


A Canvas Worn By Time

by WrynnsBlade



Series: Paint Your Journey [2]
Category: Xī yóu jì | Journey to the West - Wú Cheng'en, 西遊 | Journey to the West (Chow Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, unashamed fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 16:04:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17790467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrynnsBlade/pseuds/WrynnsBlade
Summary: A one-shot continuation of Paint Your Heart!





	A Canvas Worn By Time

            Once immortality is achieved, years flow on endlessly and enjoyably. The trials one faces are but hiccups on their journey to a longer life, but it’s well worth the effort to avoid the greedy hands of death. Having achieved greatness and recognition, Buddhas no longer participate in the cycles of rebirth and death. Once one becomes a Buddha, years slide by unnoticed, unchallenged by Heaven for their deeds. At least, that’s what happens when you’re a proper Buddha that doesn’t lounge with humans when it suits them.

            Speaking of such a rebel, WuKong adjusts his collar, flashing a charming grin towards his former master. “Elder, we need to go out.” The human guise was as perfect as always, and his hair was mildly tamed by being pulled back and away from his face. His red button up shirt is undone to expose his neck, and just a sliver of his chest peeks out before his black vest covers over him. He’s dressed as a temptation to the monk, and he knew very well how to tease the man by simply existing in the same space as him. The monkey plucks a bit of lint from his well fitted slacks, and he observes the tips of his shoes which shined despite the dim lighting.

            “We didn’t have a holiday such as this in our time,” Sanzang chides, adjusting his turtleneck. It was a cream color, cashmere material he seemed very fond of. If he ever knew the price of such a thing, WuKong was sure he’d discard it in a heartbeat. Which was why he bought the clothes while Sanzang bought the groceries. Amber eyes crinkle in the corners as his grin widens, watching as the monk tries to cover the enthusiastic marks left behind from the previous night. “Bad enough that you indulge in every Qixi Festival—which by the way, still makes me question how you manage to gain the favor of celestials for our union.”

            WuKong smiles. It’s a bright, charming and lovely smile. The type of smile he knows full and well will distract his old master. Sanzang was always fixated on the darker hue of his skin, and the King knew precisely how to disarm questions that were better left off unanswered. He rolls up his sleeves and adjusts his collar once more. A bit more exposure of the skin on his neck draws dark eyes to such a temptation, and he knows that the monk was too distracted to remain on such thoughts. He wasn’t the only one that loved to leave marks.

            “Come on, Sanzang,” he drawls. Moving towards the monk, WuKong’s steps seemed coordinated and purposeful, as if he were dancing to his own tune than simply walking. “We’ve places to be, people to see and things to do!” The Great Sage does as he likes and likes what he does. Seducing the monk before him was quite possibly one of his most favorite things to do, and this time was of no exception as he pulls the monk towards him so they could finally leave out the door.

            The city was bustling. It was thriving and looked so very different than the centuries that’ve long since passed. Heroes holding swords still captured the hearts of many. Legends have mostly died in the eyes of people. Their tales of the journey westward was still pervaded the very culture they’d sought to save—though funnily enough, WuKong took spotlight more often than his master.

            “Why do you like New York so much?” Sanzang asks this as they dart across the street as the walking light changes. “It stinks, it’s busy and it’s so loud.” WuKong doesn’t answer at first, carefully helping the monk get situated as they reached the safety of the sidewalk. The restaurant he wanted them to go to is nearby, and he wanted to make sure that everything was in place before they stepped inside.

            “It reminds me of Fruit and Flower mountain a bit,” WuKong admits this as they enter one of the busy buildings. It wasn’t overly crowded, and he’d been here before. They had plenty of options for the monk to choose from, as he stubbornly held onto his vegetarian diet. “And besides, the people here are relatively friendly. Quick steps, a bit rough around the edges, but usually quite nice.” Or maybe it was because even now, in the modern day, people could sense that WuKong was so much more.

            With the passage of time, certain things were lost to humanity as the tools became obsolete. One such tool was recognizing spirits or demons. They get escorted to a tucked away room, one with a lovely view of the city that the King had come to like. It table was comfortable, though a touch small. It was alright. He knew Sanzang wouldn’t eat too much. The monk ate like a bird.

            Putting in an order was a simple matter. Especially given the fact that he recognized their server as a celestial. Truth of the matter is that the entire restaurant was run by immortals and celestials trying to blend in with this new age. WuKong came by often to help out when they misunderstood the current generation of patrons that came through their doors. And given the amount of celestials on tonight, he’s sure that they knew very well what he planned.

            WuKong didn’t mind an audience. Shame was never a part of his dictionary in the first place. “Say ahh,” he teases the monk. He’s offering a strawberry dipped in chocolate, one of the very few things he’s managed to get the monk to like. Chocolate was something they weren’t too used to, and the King typically felt ill after eating such a confection. But Sanzang loved it. To his surprise, Sanzang is bold enough to take it from his fingers, the edge of blunt teeth grazing his fingers.

            One would think that WuKong would learn some sort of semblance of control over the centuries he’s lived. One would assume that the King would have been patient, given that he’s seen kingdoms rise and fall and rise again. They would be very wrong, as that expectation should only apply to humans and not a monkey demon used to getting his own way. “Hey now,” WuKong murmurs. His voice drops several tones, his amber eyes darkening just a bit. He’s gone in one second and appears in another with Sanzang now on his lap. “Don’t get so cheeky. The night’s still young yet.”

            Even as he says his, his mouth is drifting across the back of Tripitaka’s exposed neck. The monk shivers before he decides a different tactic is necessary to salvage the night. “Why did you take me here,” he manages. His tone is light, curious. And it’s enough to bring the monkey back off the edge he loved to walk on so frequently. A single hand lifts from the monk’s hip, and he can see it’s empty. But then it twists in an exaggerated motion, one that he recognizes to be WuKong’s unique magic.

            A black box now sits in his palm, unopened. The question is unasked, but it still hangs in the air between them. Sanzang doesn’t remember to breathe until WuKong squeezes his hip. Though they knew so well that they wouldn’t part, to take it to _this_ extent was something he didn’t expect WuKong to do. The monkey frequently—and jokingly—called him the wife of their relationship.  The King _also_ had gotten them matching rings before this, something he’d cutely called a _promise_ to the monk.

            “We can’t do this at home*,” WuKong murmurs. “Not the same way we can here.” His amber eyes were carefully watching the monk, the way his hands shook and the way his lips trembled. “But that’s alright. I can fulfill my promise here.” He didn’t care for a change in location. He didn’t care if it was at home or it was in a different country. He wanted it _recognized_ somewhere. He wanted it _open_ somewhere. He wanted to fulfill his promise he’d made the monk far too many years ago to count.

            Sanzang doesn’t speak. His lips still trembling, he suddenly _understands_ everything that goes unspoken. He understands precisely what WuKong means and why he’s doing things this way. His shaking hands take the box, trembling and unable to open the very simple box yet. He didn’t dare look inside. It would make everything all too real. “I know you promised.” He knew the that King promised him at the end of the journey to stay by his side. He knew the Great Sage had gifted him a matching ring to make that promise _real_.

            This was a different promise. This was a **follow through** of something he didn’t dare say out loud. “But are you _sure_?” The question was quiet. The question was one that spoke of taboo—it went against everything they’d known. It wasn’t uncommon to see this relationship back in their day. And as time progressed, their relationship became something that was forbidden, something they could be killed for.

            After living through too many years in hiding, after suffering through too many nights of shame and questioning their relationship that was all too real, to have _this_ in his hands with such a heavy question between them… “I’ve overturned Heaven.” WuKong’s voice is rough, dark. _Danger_ , Sanzang thought. _Was nearby_. But the only danger that was posed to them was the questions he asked now. “I’ve survived the fall of immortals. I’ve survived wars. I’ve survived the fall of kingdoms, the fall of my _people_. I won’t hesitate to start another one sided war to ensure my promise is fulfilled.”

            Sanzang knew that to be true. And shaky fingers finally pry open the box, the contents therein now exposed. _To be so bold like this… We won’t be lowkey with this on my hand_. That’s what the monk thought. “It’s beautiful,” he murmurs. _How much?_

            “I made it myself,” the king smugly stated. “I didn’t want something that wasn’t handmade to be on your finger.” Though he wouldn’t call himself a metal-smith, the monkey had most definitely discovered a hidden talent to have made such a beautiful piece of jewelry.

            Sanzang pulls it from its black pillow and is about to slide it over his finger when the monkey leans forward. “No take-backs,” WuKong murmurs. “Once it’s on, I’m not letting you go.” He was terribly possessive in the way his hands squeezed on Tripitaka’s hips.

            “As if you would,” the monk replies. He slides the ring on. It fit perfectly, as to be expected. And he sighs, relaxing against the monkey behind him. “Happy _Valentine’s_ day.” The dark chuckle behind him was the only reply he needed. Sanzang smiled faintly, staring at the silver band that now adorned his hand. He wouldn’t expect anything less from the Great Sage, Equal of Heaven.

**Author's Note:**

> Though I know Paint Your Heart has an epilogue, I couldn't help myself.  
> * China does not have the same LGBTQ rights as the United States does. In certain areas, they don't recognize same-sex marriages, let alone having any rights towards such a thing if they occur.


End file.
